


Nothing More Than This

by MissMoochy



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Aged-Up Peter Parker, Bottom Peter Parker, Bottom Peter Parker/Top Wade Wilson, Casual Sex, Hate Sex, M/M, Male Slash, My First Work in This Fandom, POV Peter Parker, Roof Sex, Rough Sex, Smut, Top Wade Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 07:03:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21193571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: Peter and Wade fuck on a roof-top. That's about it.





	Nothing More Than This

**Author's Note:**

> I was desperate to write something for Spideypool, never have before so please be kind! If you liked it, leave a kudos or comment, they make my day!

It makes him feel alive. Rushing along rooftops in the night, a chill in the air, New York’s many complicated citizens walking far below him, as small as ants. He’s above them and he’s not locked in by streets and roads, traffic lights and scaffolding. He’s free.

But now, here on the roof of an office block, his movements are limited by something else. Deadpool’s weight on Peter’s back, a wall of warm, hard muscle, smothering him, crushing him into the cement roof.

He can hold up well, he’s strong, Peter’s told Deadpool this many times (as smartass Spider-man, not unassuming Peter Parker) that he’s strong, Deadpool couldn’t break him if he tried. And whenever he says that, the strange masked man looks back at him (although with that netting hiding his eyes, he could be looking at anything) and he tilts his head as if to say “You really think that?”

What they have is not a relationship. It’s hardly a friendship at that. What this is, all it is, is Deadpool on top of him, fucking Peter hard and rough into the cement. They keep their masks on, don’t exchange names, their real names. Peter pushes his suit off him as much as he can, but Deadpool seems unwilling to get naked, and he always makes Peter face away from him. If Peter cared more about the antihero’s opinion, perhaps he’d feel snubbed that the guy didn’t even want to look at him. But this is just feeling, sensation. Not love.

He gulps in lungfuls of cold, clean air, air that’s too high up to be soured by the exhaust fumes of the traffic below. Deadpool’s forceful, fucking hard, deep shuddering thrusts that would hurt a less superpowered being. He loves him for being that forceful, for knowing Peter’s limits, not treating him like he’s broken glass or the kid superhero following the Avengers around. 

Here, they’re now two super-freaks on opposite sides (Peter can’t respect somebody who kills, even if he’s saved innocent lives), they’re just two guys, letting it out and fucking like animals under the foggy night sky. 

Right now, Peter is kneeling, his suit pushed down to his knees, protecting them from the scrape of the roof, Deadpool above him, pushing into him with no rhythm at all, just deep thrusts that make his knees buckle and whole body shake. His cock hangs down, hard, aching, untouched but he doesn’t touch it, couldn’t if he wanted to, both his palms flat on the roof, holding him up. He doesn’t want to touch, wants to come purely from Deadpool’s dick.

Shallow gasps are pulled from his lips with each juddering thrust, Deadpool’s gloved hands holding on Peter’s hips so hard it hurts.

“Fuck, Pool, can’t-” His mind is overflowing with fantasies, this is what they do, all they do when they’re not exchanging witty barbs or fighting, but although he’s been fucked six ways to sunday by this guy, he’s never even kissed him. Never run his hand down his body. And now he’s thinking that he wants to.

Deadpool settles on a new angle that sparks something in peter, deep inside, heat flooding him and he moans, tries to communicate that  _ yes, this is it, do that, do it again  _ and maybe it worked because Deadpool’s got renewed energy, digging his fingers in Peter’s hips and slamming into him.

He feels the familiar tightening in his balls, heat building in his groin and he comes, noisily, weak-kneed, relying on Deadpool to hold him up.

Deadpool is still fucking him, desperately, each thrust bordering on painful on Peter’s overstimulated body but he lets him, lets himself be spread open and used. Now he’s not chasing his own orgasm, he can focus on the experience, the sound of Deadpool’s harsh breathing muffled by his mask, the feeling of his leather-clad hands exploring Peter’s body. And he is. Touching his chest, squeezing Peter’s waist, trying him, checking him out. It’s new.

He feels oddly unbalanced like he’s being watched under a microscope, Deadpool is nothing more to him than disembodied hands and a cock, always behind him, never letting Peter look at him, touch him.

He reaches his hand behind him, curious fingers reaching for Deadpool’s hand, his cock, whatever he can reach. His fumbling grasp finds his chest, deliciously sculpted muscle but as his fingers drift down, they catch on raised, bumpy skin. Rough, puckered scars. It feels  **wrong ** and he instinctively recoils like he’s been scalded. 

His hand is still hovering uncertainly behind him when a vice-like hold grips his wrist, hard enough to leave a bruise.

“Don’t,” Deadpool grinds out.

He keeps his hand still locked around Peter’s wrist and eventually comes, with a grunt of satisfaction. He pulls out, leaving an ache. At least Peter made him wear a condom.

Peter’s still pondering the feeling of touching scarred flesh and what this could mean, when he realises Deadpool is standing, on the roof, dressed in record time. Peter scrambles to his feet and yanks up his suit and they exchange a glance, then Deadpool’s throwing himself off the roof, off to do...whatever he does when he’s not dying or screwing Peter. Peter doesn’t leave the roof for some time.


End file.
